Diagnosis Frohike
by fififolle
Summary: AU Diagnosis Jimmy What if it had been Frohike that had the skiing accident? Genfic, I swear.


**Disclaimers**: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc. Interestingly, I don't own any rights to Fuzzy Felt or Where Eagles Dare, either.

**Spoilers - Diagnosis: Jimmy**

**A/N: Many thanks to JD Rush for beta, and for fuelling my Frohike bunnies. **So it wasn't what sparked the idea, but once the thought of Frohike and bed bath jokes was seeded in my mind, what else could I do? Apologies to Jimmy fans, but I'm sure you understand. Anyhow, in the episode, Fro was the only one, other than Yves, to show any compassion for Jimmy's welfare, so I know Jimmy wouldn't mind. Apologies only for UK spelling and children's toys.

**Summary:** AU Gen - What if it had been Frohike that had the skiing accident?

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"_I think I'm using this heat-sensing thingy right. There's a big fuzzy blob heading your way, Frohike." _Jimmy's voice sounded over the radio headset.

"No names! I'm Broadsword, remember?" Frohike came swiftly to a graceful stop and planted his ski poles firmly in the crisp snow.

"_Oh yeah, sorry, Fro… sorry, Broadsword."_

"I'm going to take some cover now. Keep your eyes open, Snowflake." Frohike pushed himself into the cover of some pine trees, and waited for the target to appear.

Looking through his binoculars, Frohike could see two men arriving on the scene. "I think the two buyers have arrived. Danny Boy?"

Byers voice crackled through_, "This is Danny Boy. Are they Asian?"_

"Yup."

"_That'll be them."_

"OK, here comes our poacher. Wait… he's not stopping. He's heading away. Damn!" Frohike launched himself out of the trees, and started skiing after the poacher at top speed.

"_Broadsword? This is Danny Boy. What is going on?" _

Ignoring the shouts in his ear for the moment, Frohike concentrated on pursuing the poacher down the steep slope. The guy was fast, and knew where he was going. When he stopped to meet another skier, Frohike slowed a little to get some photos. He didn't know who this new buyer was, but he wasn't going to let them get away. Until he skied slap bang into that tree, of course.

"Oh Melvin, what on earth have you done? You silly man." Yves peered down at the crumpled figure lying in the snow. She closed her eyes for a moment, and wished the so-called journalists would stop interfering with things that could get them killed. She opened them again, but Frohike was still there, his leg at an impossible angle. She was glad he was unconscious; the last thing she wanted was for him to know she was involved. In any case, the best thing she could do for her… acquaintance… was to call out the Mountain Rescue as fast as possible, so she quickly knelt down close to him.

"Sorry, Frohike, I can't stay, but I'll send help." She leaned down and planted a firm kiss on his icy lips. She hurriedly clipped her skis back on, pulled up her mask, and fled down the mountain.

Frohike's eyes fluttered open. "I knew she couldn't resist another taste," he slurred, and then passed out.

**0o0o0**

"Are you sure you don't remember the face? They took your film, man!" Langly gestured in frustration.

"I'm sorry, guys. I just… I got nothing." Frohike licked his dry lips, and lay back weakly on his pillow.

"It's OK, big guy. Just get better." Jimmy patted Frohike gently on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Byers." Frohike tried to catch his friend's eye, but Byers was finding the floor fascinating.

"Maybe in a couple of days, Mel, yeah?" Byers said quietly.

"I hope so, I really hope so."

A young, brunette nurse bustled into the room. "Visiting time is over, gentlemen. Thank you." She ushered them out, her eyes fixed dotingly on the tall, handsome Jimmy.

The nurse shut the door and returned to Frohike's bedside, picking up his charts. She moved to his side. "Do you have any pain, Melvin?" she asked matter-of-factly as she clipped the pulse meter to his finger.

"It's Frohike, if you don't mind, and now you're holding my hand, I'm feeling just fine," he cracked, but really, he was in agony, and his voice was crumbling by the end of his little line.

She rolled her eyes. "I take it that's a yes, then, Mr Frohike. I've got you some analgesia ready."

"Just… Frohike. And you can get me anything, anytime, sugar," he managed to croak.

"All right, Frohike it is. And stow the wisecracks, or I'll have you transferred to Elderly Care. My name is Marilyn, see if you can remember that. Call me if you need me. Use this button, OK? I'll be right back."

"You're… gonna let me… push your buttons?" his eyes were shut.

"I swear, Frohike… Elderly Care, got it?"

When Marilyn returned, she touched Frohike's shoulder gently, and his eyes flew open. "It's OK, Frohike, it's just me."

Frohike let out a deep breath. It had been a while since being woken up had spooked him. He looked at his leg, held up in traction. What a freakin' mess.

"This is your analgesia." Marilyn held up a syringe with what looked like a very pointy needle attached.

"I guess I do need…" Frohike started rolling up his sleeve.

"Uh uh," Marilyn grinned and shook her head, "Roll over a little, Frohike. This one's payback."

"Oh god. Not my butt. It ain't pretty, Marilyn."

She smirked, "Maybe not, but it'll be worth it."

**0o0o0**

The redheaded woman in a long, dark coat swept confidently down the corridor. She held a wrapped bunch of flowers in her arm. Stopping at the nurses' station, she caught the eye of the nurse sitting behind the desk.

"Melvin Frohike?"

Marilyn gave the woman an appraising look. "I'm afraid visiting time is over."

"Yes, I am aware of that. I wanted to leave these for him. Are you his named nurse?"

"Yes. I can give him those." Marilyn reached out and took the flowers, slightly puzzled by the woman's behaviour. "He is asleep, actually. Would you like to wait? Perhaps, if he wakes, I…."

"No. Thank you. It's fine. I have to go."

And with that, Dana Scully left.

**0o0o0**

"Marilyn…?"

"Yes, Frohike?" Marilyn took the probe from his ear, and wrote his temperature on the chart.

"When do I get my bed bath, sugar?" he gave her his best leer. If he wasn't in perpetual agony, he might be enjoying himself.

"Don't you wish you could remember the last one?"

"Quit torturing me, Marilyn."

"You'll get one when I finish my shift." She winked at him.

"Oh yeah?" His temperature was a lot higher now, he could tell.

"Yeah. That's when Hilda comes on. She can do it."

"Aw, crap."

Marilyn smiled sweetly at him. "Just try and keep out of trouble, Frohike. Look what you did to your lunch."

Frohike pouted, recalling what had happened earlier. At least he could remember around four hours at a time now. He's broken up his potatoes and meatloaf into little pieces, and tried to reconstruct a face on the bed table. He'd just added the peas for eyes, when Marilyn had discovered the mess. He'd been threatened with amputation of a delicate nature. She'd promised to bring him some bits and pieces to use instead.

"You'll bring me some stuff I can use, then?"

"Yes, I'll bring it in the morning. And please get some sleep tonight." She smiled. "Hey, maybe your mysterious visitor will come at visiting hours later."

Frohike glanced at the vase of flowers, and felt a glow inside. "No. She won't. But it's OK."

**0o0o0**

Frohike carefully placed the Fuzzy Felt pieces around the board. He was muttering to himself.

"Dark hair…" he placed the little black felt dogs in an arc.

"Shut up on the other side of the curtain!" came the voice of Mr Dimsdale.

"Quit shouting at me!" Frohike growled, then arranged the dolphin in the centre, "Nose was kinda like that…"

"Have you no respect for sick people? I said shut up!" the old man continued.

"OK, that's it. I'm gonna shut you up, you old goat, lemme at you!" Frohike scrabbled at the locker next to his bed, and at the curtains, trying to pull his bed across closer to Mr Dimsdale. In his fog of anger, Frohike found himself landing on the floor, his fully plastered leg dragged after him, and the Fuzzy Felt scattered around him.

"Serves you right, you nasty man!" laughed Mr Dimsdale.

"You're asking for it, crinkle-features! Just push the goddamn button!"

Marilyn and Dr Bromberg had to break it up between the two of them; Frohike was still dragging himself towards Dimsdale's bed, and Dr Bromberg struggled to get him to lie still to assess the damage. Frohike noticed the lollipop drop from Dr Bromberg's pocket, and swiftly scooped it up and slipped it under his gown. He looked closely at the doctor, thinking about the death on the operating table he'd heard about. Was it just possible this guy was the Richard Millikan he'd heard about on the America's Most Wanted? He sure looked like a slippery character.

**0o0o0**

The two women talked quietly by the door. Concern was etched deeply on the face of the visitor, her arms wrapped tightly around her, the folds of the red sweater bunching over her shapely chest.

"Are you saying it could be months before he can walk again?" Yves said quietly.

"Well, given his age, and weight, the doctors think he was lucky not to need further surgery. He's actually doing very well; he's fitter than he looks. They'll do more x-rays in a couple of weeks. I'm sure he'll make a full recovery in time - your uncle is quite a character."

"Yes, yes he is." Yves smiled, "Thank you for looking after him, I can imagine it's not the easiest job in the world."

Marilyn laughed, "No. It isn't. But it's never boring. Come on, let's see if we can wake him up."

"Frohike? Look who's here!"

"Huh? Yves…?"

"Yes, Uncle Melvin, it's me." Yves winked at Frohike, and glanced at Marilyn, "Thanks, Marilyn."

"No trouble. Call me if you need me, Frohike."

Frohike nodded, and gestured for Yves to sit next to him. "Uncle?"

Yves smiled and raised an eyebrow, "I thought you might appreciate that."

He smirked, "Well, it'll do next time we check into a motel."

"You're impossible, Frohike." She sighed, "I'm glad you're OK."

"What exactly are you doing here anyway? There's no point beating around the bush. What do you want?"

Yves bit her lip, as she studiously kept the hurt expression from her face. "I heard about the accident. Langly told me how bad it was… I didn't know it was this bad."

Frohike waved airily at this leg, "Be right as rain in no time. At least… I hope it will. I just wish it had been worth it. We were after the buyers of bear gall bladders. My memory loss has ruined the whole story. Byers is gutted - a bit like the bears, I guess."

"You saw the buyers, but you can't recall any of it?"

"Yeah, something like that. But… there's something else, and I can't quite…"

"I didn't know you could ski, Frohike," Yves said brightly.

"Melvin, man of mystery," he quipped, then winced as he felt a twinge of pain in his knee.

"Are you OK?" Yves got up off her chair, her voice losing it's usual cool.

"Yves, come here," he whispered.

She leant closer to him.

"I need your help with something. I need you to bring me some equipment." He pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

"What's this?" she frowned.

"I had to write to myself to remember. Please, check it out, and bring the things on the list. Please?" He reached a hand close to where her arm leaned on the bed, but stopped short of touching her.

She sighed, "Why do I do these things for you, Melvin? No, don't answer that. I'll come back tomorrow, and I'm not making any promises beyond that."

**0o0o0**

Yves deposited the bag on the end of Frohike's bed. "Believe me, Frohike, you're way off target. Your little theory holds no water. But I brought you the gear anyway."

"Thanks, Yves. Anyway, it's just possible other people are as clever as you at covering your tracks."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "Don't be silly, Frohike. Nobody's as good as me." She pulled a chair close to his bed, and whispered, "What are you planning on doing, exactly?"

Frohike nodded his head towards the next bed, "Mr Dimsdale is up next for surgery with the mad doc. With any luck we can catch the old bastard being snuffed out on video!"

Yves wrinkled her nose, "Then you'll have your proof."

"Yup." Frohike grinned in triumph.

"You are disgusting. And how are you going to install the cameras?" she cocked her head at him.

Frohike glanced down at his lap, a small smile on his face. He looked up at Yves, "Um… any chance…?"

Yves blinked at him, and sighed. "And what do I get in return?"

Frohike waggled his eyebrows. "I'll keep your picture out of The Lone Gunman."

"You wouldn't."

"I know it's him, Yves. Please? I'm all hung up here," he glanced at this leg, hanging in front of him.

"You owe me big time, Melvin," Yves scowled.

**0o0o0**

Frohike huddled as far as he could over the little video screen in front of him. He could see Dr Bromberg starting to cut into Dimsdale. He winced as he watched the surgeon work. He flicked a switch and different views around the operating theatre began to pop up. The camera he was watching the feed from was focussed on the anaesthetist, who was sitting at the head end of the operating table. Frohike was just about to switch away, when he saw the man take a vial from his pocket. Thinking that was extremely odd, Frohike continued to watch as the doctor used a syringe and needle to withdraw some liquid from the vial, and begin to inject it into the side port of the IV line running into Mr Dimsdale. As alarms started to flash, and staff in the theatre began rushing around frantically, Frohike mumbled, "Oops. Wrong doc." He pressed his button to call Marilyn.

**0o0o0**

"Well done, Frohike. I suppose helping you was worth it this time." Yves stood at the foot of his bed, clutching a bag in front of her.

"Gee, thanks, Yves. Sorry to keep putting you out. Saving Mr Dimsdale was an unexpected side effect of catching the mad doc, believe me. He's going home today though, thank god."

Yves rolled her eyes, "You have the milk of human goodness oozing from every pore, Melvin. Anyway, so, I've got a couple of projects coming up, but your cast should be off when I next see you."

Frohike gave her a small smile, "Thanks Yves. I appreciate your visits. You take care of yourself, OK?"

"Who else will, Frohike?" she asked rhetorically, smiled sadly, and turned to leave.

He watched her go, then Frohike picked his Fuzzy Felt board off the bedside locker. He studied what he had so far, and screwed up his face with dissatisfaction. He looked at the pieces he had left. A big green truck. A grey guitar. Several little pink kids. A couple of red snakes… he frowned, and glanced across at the board. He bit his bottom lip nervously and picked up the snakes. He stuck them on the board and poked at them until they sat the way he wanted. Then he admired his handiwork – they looked just like a pair of red, rounded lips. He paled, and his eyes were drawn to the door, as he realised what this meant. It had been Yves on the slopes. She had been the rogue buyer…

Langly and Byers breezed in through the door, followed by Jimmy.

"Hey man! I hear you're the regular hero!" Langly grinned, and clapped Frohike on the shoulder.

"It was nothing. Easy to catch a murderer when you know how. Listen guys… Yves was the buyer on the slopes. It just came back to me."

Byers exchanged a look with Langly and Jimmy, "Yes, Frohike, we know. We've been having some adventures of our own, and let's just say Yves must have had her reasons for preventing the Asian buyers getting the goods."

Frohike slumped in his bed, "She gets into everything we touch. What's the deal with her?"

Faced with a lot of shrugs, Frohike changed the subject, "So, Snowflake, you been making a good stand-in for me?"

Jimmy grinned, "I can fly upside down like the best of them."

**0o0o0**

"Tell me Dad, what made you change your mind? I mean, I'm glad you're coming home with me, it's an honour to take care of you while you recover, but… I'm confused. You didn't want anything to do with me…" Mr Dimsdale's son pushed the wheelchair towards the exit.

Mr Dimsdale smiled, "Listen, son. That guy in the next bed… Frohike… he might have saved my life, but where were his kids? He didn't have any, that's where. Now, I'm not saying I like what you've done with your life, but when all's said and done, you're flesh and blood. Heck, I'm not going to pretend I'm proud of you, but we can at least try to get along, right?"

Mr Dimsdale's son sighed, "I guess so, Dad."

"That's my boy. Now get a move on, I'm going to want my dinner soon." Mr Dimsdale turned in his chair, and winked at his son.

_**fin**_

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**A/N:** I'm loving playing with Frohike. Hope you enjoyed this thought ;)


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